From The Tabletops
by Senticous
Summary: He regarded her with the utmost academic detachment; she was quite sure that her life was no textbook. E/E, but not really romance. Oneshot.


_Notes: First and foremost, these characters and setting aren't mine. Secondly, this is my first foray into fan-fiction in over six years. Thirdly, I have not read The Brick aside from little excerpts here and there, and I ground my characterization in the musical/movie universe, mostly (with a healthy dose of personal headcanons). I have wanted to write some sort of oneshot where Enjolras and Éponine interact in some way, because I find them both to be fascinating characters, and well, this was the first result. Enjoy!_

With the onset of the summer, nights were growing both shorter and warmer, raising the spirits of the population of Paris all across the social lines. For the bourgeoisie, it marked the time for the families to quit the city premises and move to provincial summer houses; for the working class it meant less money spent on firewood; and for the denizens of the slums it signified the end of long nights of huddling in street corners, seeking desperately any traces of warmth to fend off the January chills. The hotter days also brought about restlessness to the people, a certain spirited disposition which made everyone all the more susceptible to incendiary ideas of justice and revolutions.

The back room of the Cafe Musain was aflame, bustling with new-comers and old faces, and the scent of alcohol being passed around almost as freely as the subversive talks -_almost_. A few boys sat around a table composing long winded manifestos which discussed the destitute state of education in France; at another, the resident drunkard shared stories with some newly recruited working class men who wished to join in the cause. At the back of the room, their golden leader -Enjolras- was pacing atop a table while delivering inflamed words against Louis Philippe's rule and his treatment of the disenfranchised people of France. It seemed everyone was here today, philosophers and poets and insurgents -everyone except Marius Pontmercy.

He had been in the room earlier but had left after a short-lived argument, and was presently dejectedly standing at the front of the Cafe, alternatively sighing and running his hands through his hair. So absorbed was he by his thoughts, his blue eyes fixated in the cobblestones at his feet, that he did not notice a pair of willowy arms wrapping around his torso from behind him until he was firmly caught in their grip. To say that he was startled would have been an understatement.

"Mon dieu, 'Ponine! I thought you were going to kill me!" He cried as he turned around and recognized the familiar face of his friend, a wide smile shining on her features through the dirt covering her skin. He couldn't help but to smile back, she was an odd girl but he'd never seen anyone laugh as fully as she did when she was in his presence. That was, of course, until he'd met Cosette -her smile would dim all the stars in Heaven with its brilliance. Nevertheless, he laughed along with Éponine as she fluttered about him, his concerns momentarily forgotten.

"Well, what has gotten into you?" She asked at last. "I was so happy to see you out here, but I was surprised quite a lot, Monsieur Marius…I thought you'd be inside, with the other students in one of those strange meetings you won't let me attend. And what's got you so thoughtful? I thought you would be happy, having spoken with that girl you wanted me to find…"

"'Ponine, hold on. One question at a time, will you? By God, you talk too fast."

"What can I say monsieur, I am so happy to have found you-" He lifted a hand to silence her, and she obeyed, yet the smile never left her eyes. By comparison, his features grew somewhat gloomy as he told his story.

"You see, 'Ponine, I am not sure I am very welcomed among Les Amis at this moment…"He began with a sigh, but before she could protest her outrage in his name he continued with all the resentment of a small child who has been scolded by their nursemaid "Enjolras, well, he was quite agitated at me earlier. I had forgotten to bring a few papers -damnit, I was sure Courfeyrac had them instead-, but no…At any rate, the papers: I forgot all about them. And then I went to have a word with Cosette, and missed the beginning of the gathering… I had my reasons! One can hardly expect a man to keep the time when in the presence of an angel! And Cosette is just that! But…well, 'Ponine. Enjolras, he does not understand that! He asked me to step outside and wait to have a word with him later…" He lifted his blue eyes at her mournfully, and he found nothing if not sympathy and anger on his behalf. " 'Ponine, I have given so much to follow in _their_ cause, my grandfather 'Ponine -you know that he has cut me off, and that's why I live in that broken down flat (no offense, 'Ponine) and I just…if _they_ shun me also…'Ponine?" At some point, in the middle of recounting his familial woes he had turned around to look at the stars, and now the gamine was nowhere to be found. He cursed his blasted luck under his breath, not even his closest ally would listen to him in times of distress.

Éponine walked determinedly into the Cafe Musain; she fixed her hat, and straightened the ragged dress which she wore as best as she could. She was not sure what she would say, but she wouldn't stand by to let anyone humiliate monsieur Marius. She strode into the crowded back room where the assembly was taken place -it was supposed to be some secret, but with ears in the right places there was nothing secret in Paris, let alone a few schoolboys' attempts at ushering in the next revolution. She half-expected some kind of guard at the door, but there was none, thus she walked in and waded through the crowd unbothered. In fact, everyone was so caught up in the multiple arguments and speeches going around that no one took notice of her presence. _Some secret indeed_, she thought with derision.

A cursory scan of the room revealed that their leader, the boy who had upset Marius, was walking atop a table while shouting about something. She got closer, and caught wind of words such as "oppression of those most vulnerable", and "the wretched condition we reduce our women and children to, from their cradle to their grave", and some other such nonsenses that she didn't care enough to try and make sense of. She stood at his feet, trying to get his attention despite the buzzing of the room. She had no interest in waiting 'till he was finished, and at any rate, Marius' unhappiness was a more pressing matter.

"Monsieur!" He strode about, facing away from her. "Monsieur Enjolras, a word if you will!" She half-spoke, half-shouted. He turned around, seeking the source of the interruption. His eyebrows were drawn together in annoyance, but as his eyes swept her frame his expression changed to one of illuminated understanding. She was about to mention Marius's name and present her grievances, but without missing a beat, he stepped forward and offered her his hand. In no time, Éponine found herself standing atop the damned table and surrounded by curious eyes. It hit her that she had not quite thought this plan through…

"Monsie-"

"Do you see this woman? This woman next to me? It is her, and others like her that I am speaking about!"

Oh damn it all to hell. Éponine's jaw must have dropped open because all of a sudden she was lightheaded from far too much oxygen -or was it embarrassment?

"This girl, a daughter of France, born to citizens of this country who have had the means to raise honest children ripped from them by the unfair ruling and poor education, is reduced to wear inappropriate rags, worn-thin by toil and fatigue - while the daughters of the royals are dressed in riches without having to earn a shred of it! This girl… " he looked at her with a mix of pity and admiration, and Éponine felt a rising need to punch him squarely in the mouth. "This girl has likely not had a decent meal in days, while the daughters of the bourgeoisie feast on banquets that could feed a family for days. Tell me, is this what the people of Paris fought for two years ago? To see those who should be cherished and protected, the vast majority of the children of France walking the streets hungry and cold? While a few enjoy all of the privileges, the many suffer the harsh consequences of corruption and injustice…But no words will ever be able to paint an accurate picture of what we fight for, what we wish to eradicate: misery, oppression, and disenfranchisement! Therefore, gentlemen, I bid you to look at her, to see with your own eyes what the actions of the corrupted and the inaction of good men brings about!" At saying this, he gestured towards her, a triumphant glow washing over his features. The whole audience was held captive by his words and obeyed wordlessly. Éponine had never wanted so badly to disappear into thin air, not even when her father dragged her along for one of his schemes. In the suspended silence that had overtaken the room, she heard a door cracking open. Of course, her humiliation was not complete; in that moment Marius walked in and gave her a look of utter horror.

Enough was enough. She opened and shut her mouth just as quickly, managing no words to describe the indignation which she felt. Her cheeks were ablaze with shame as she tried to scramble off the table, only to feel a hand heavily resting in her shoulder and holding her back. Enjolras, the engineer of this whole scene, had the gall to smile at her reassuringly, his blue eyes brimming with compassion and fire. God she hated him, hated him and his angelic looks and his ridiculous hair. Combeferre, more perceptive than most was monitoring the situation from a nearby chair and had taken notice of the girl's balled fists and tense shoulders; but was not quick enough to alert Enjolras, who was about to speak once again.

"You need not be ashamed, mademoiselle…It is the powerful and the blind who should be ashamed. It is us for not taking action who- " He was stopped midsentence, suddenly realizing the sharp, cold glare that the waif was sending his way. She shrugged off his hand from her shoulder, eyeing him with the utmost contempt.

"Yes, you should." She spat, squaring her shoulders and jutting out her jaw with the defiance of someone who has no dignity left to loose. "You should be ashamed, all of you! You should, because while you stand here and talk pretty words, my brother is out there begging for money to eat, and so is my sister, 'Zelma…" She gestured about the room to ensure her audience was listening and could have bit her tongue when she caught sight of Gavroche asleep in a corner. Well then, too late to back down now. She returned her gaze to the flabbergasted student next to her. Enjolras had clenched his fists and seemed ready to launch himself into an impassioned retort but the determination of the girl stopped him dead on his tracks. "Don't you dare, monsieur!" Her voice was a terrible thing as she advanced on him, almost forcing him to take a step back -_almost_. "Don't you dare, I listened to your pretty lines while you laid me out there like some book of yours to be read by these other equally good-for-nothing rabble-rousers…so now you'll listen to me!" A few whispers of protest were heard but she turned to the room, emphasizing "All of you." Behind her back Enjolras bit back his righteous anger and waved his hands, signaling the small crowd to keep down and listen. Éponine did not catch sight of it. Her previous humiliation had turned into a heady, intoxicating feeling derived from holding a room-full of bourgeois boys under her bare feet. For once, she was not invisible -they all saw her. "You think we are oppressed, monsieur? You think we want you to speak for us -_over us-, _monsieur? You think we _need _you to? I'll tell you what we think, monsieur…We think that every time you schoolboys get together and take to the streets is a chance for the King to push down his heel further into -our- backs for fear for his head. We think that you all have money enough to buy books, and fine coats, and time to speak pretty about France –and yet you are all so stupid! You are wasting good lives, lives we'd kill to have to die for a cause that will not change a thing…!"

"That is not true!" shouted Enjolras, unable to hold back his outrage; but was quickly silence by the murderous look the younger girl gave him –the one she reserved for her father's colleagues. She turned on him, a grimy finger pointed at his nose while her other hand belligerently rested on her waist.

"And you know this better than me…than -_us_- how, monsieur Enjolras? Tell me, what did the riots from two years ago did for us, the people, like you call us….? What did the grand revolution before that did? Not a thing. Not a thing at all. Just a long line of kings and emperors and other such fat cats waiting for their turns to walk all over _us_ as if we were vermin, while well-meaning idiots like yourself die to better suit their ends. Be not mistaken, monsieur, in the end, it is about them; and when you all die, when _we all_ die, it is them who win."

She was standing so close to him that he could almost smell the layers of dirt on her face. And yet he was not concerned about that, because staring directly into the eyes of this odd girl was like seeing the abased for the first time –truly seeing them, not as an abstract concept embodying impoverishment and a lack of edification, but as people. She imposed on his personal space and gave him no room to avert his eyes, no chance to hide behind his own privileged blindness and naiveté. He found himself in equal parts horrified, ashamed, and entranced by a fire that so closely resonated with his own. The death glare in her eyes did not soften, not even as she backed down from the table and waved off the hand that Combeferre had offered with the intention of mollifying her. She walked out of the room swiftly, without even bothering to look over her shoulder – not even when Marius followed in her trail for once, rather than the other way around.

Grantaire, who had remained soundly asleep up until this point was roused at long last by the deafening silence that had befallen the room. He looked around hazily, taking in the perplexed, grave expressions of most of his often lively and spirited comrades. Enjolras himself was still standing atop the table with all the seeming of a marble effigy, his arms folded across his chest and his eyes fixated in some distant horizon that only he could perceive.

"Well…"Grantaire, having missed the exchange was the first to break the silence. "Ah…did something important happen here?"


End file.
